


In A Way

by JosephineStone



Series: My Dark/Hurt fics [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineStone/pseuds/JosephineStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco doesn’t take being rejected well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Way

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt** : Self Prompt: The story of Draco’s life focusing his obsession with Harry Potter.  
>  **Title:** In A Way  
>  **Author** : ???  
>  **Pairing(s)/Character(s)** : unrequited Harry/Draco, unrequited Draco/Crabbe, brief Draco/Cedric  
>  **Disclaimer** : Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
>  **Rating** : R  
>  **Warnings (Highlight to view)** :* See LJ Post*  
>  **Word Count** 18,100  
>  **Summary** : Draco doesn’t take being rejected well.  
>  **Author Notes** : What I originally planned to do with this was an impossibility for me. So I did not get to write every single scene I had planned for this. I mentioned a few of my favourites that couldn’t make it in passing. I’d like to thank my betas, and the mod, Nox, for being so patient with me.

_I tried to hang myself. That was something I told people later in life—I tried to hang myself when I was nineteen—when I was trying to explain how I felt. That there could be misery in families where no one drank, no one hit anyone, no one had a diagnosed mental illness, where there was nothing so recognizable and lurid as murder or incest. — Kim Fu_

#

Draco woke to Dobby—the Malfoy’s youngest house-elf—setting Draco’s bedroom curtains on fire, again. Draco hated fired; therefore, he concluded that Dobby did it on purpose. He never set anyone else’s curtains on fire. Draco told his father he should free Dobby every time it—or something like it—happened, but he refused. Draco’s mother said that Dobby was simply young and he would eventually learn to control his magic with age, but when she thought he wasn’t listening she’d tell his father Dobby was slightly eccentric like Grandmother Malfoy.

Slight wasn’t the word Draco would use for an elf who caught curtains on fire every time he touched them; eccentric wasn’t the word he’d use for Grandmother Malfoy, either.

‘What are you doing in here, Dobby?’ Even though Draco’s tone was soft and groggy, the elf screamed and he repeated how sorry he was as he burned his hands trying to put out the fire. Draco couldn’t use magic himself yet. ‘Dally!’ he called—though for once he wasn’t angry about it, because even waking up to burning curtains couldn’t ruin that day—and without a sound Dobby’s mother appeared. He didn’t have to give her any orders, she put out the fire in flash and consoled her son before she began to heal his burns.

That was the day Draco would finally get his wand. He still couldn’t use it until school started—against the rules and all—but it made the day feel much more real instead of a dream that was too far to reach. 

Out the window, the sun peaked out over the labyrinth. Slowly rising, the sun brightened his room and blacked out the two elves standing before it, giving them a golden outline. Dally, patient as always, healed Dobby’s hand tenderly. Even though her son couldn’t do the simplest things without destroying everything around him, she kissed his hands, whispered it wasn’t his fault, it would all be okay, and wiped the tears off his face. Draco’s stomach began to burn and his fist clenched. 

‘Get out,’ he said, but the elves mustn’t have heard him. When his hands began to shake, he grabbed the nearest object and threw it at them making them scatter away from each other. ‘I said “get out of my room”!’ They both Disapparated on the spot and it just angered Draco more. Dobby could Apparate. Apparate! But he couldn’t touch something without breaking it. 

Draco slipped out of bed and picked up the shattered object. It was a glass train he’d stolen when he was six. His parents had been too busy chatting with some old man in the shop they didn’t hear him repeatedly as them to look at it; but as the old man was busy with his parents, he didn’t see Draco pocket it.

He hadn’t even wanted it. 

It was supposed to be the perfect day. His father agreed to go with them. He was an important man at the Ministry Of Magic; therefore, he had to work a lot. Even when he was at home, half the time he spent working in his office. 

He wasn’t allowed in his father’s office. 

Draco opened his wardrobe and searched for the perfect outfit. It needed to be nice enough to impress his parents, but not too nice since they’d be shopping. He picked a jumper and trousers his Grandmother Black got him for his birthday last month and had yet to wear. It was green—his grandmother Black always bought him green—and it went well with his favourite cloak. Once he got his hair to look acceptable, he headed down to breakfast.

His room was on the second floor’s north wing; the fourth door on the right. When he left the room, he walked as quickly as possible past the first two doors and then slowed his walk to a normal pace. It was quiet, but his skin crawled anyway. The semi-empty rooms around his bedroom always gave him the creeps. 

On the main floor, he could hear his parents murmured chatter through the doors to the breakfast room and he entered to join them. 

After Draco made it three steps from the door, his father said, ‘Is that how we enter a room?’

Draco hadn’t thought he’d been loud nor walking too fast, but he walked back and shut the door and tried it again. That time making sure he stood up straight and that the door made no sound as he closed it. Then again, remembering to pick his feet up so they wouldn’t squeak against the floor. Then again, as he said a formal good morning to both his parents. Again as he said the greeting louder. Again because he forgot to close the door. Then his shoulders became too tense. His stride was too wide. His walk was too quick. His tone was curt. His tone was too light and too playful. 

Once he got to his chair _it_ squeaked, but after the third time he tried to sit down he was finally allowed to. His father started again—probably to say something about how he was eating his breakfast—but his mother pointed out it was nearing nine o’clock.

‘Right,’ his father said while checking the time, ‘I should be going.’

Draco perked up at that. ‘You’re going? But we’re supposed to go get my school supplies today, you promised.’

‘Was that today?’ His father looked to his mother and she nodded with a sour look on her face. ‘Ah, well, it will have to wait until tomorrow—’

‘Tomorr—’

‘We don’t raise our voices, Draco,’ his father said. ‘I have a meeting; it can’t be helped. We’ll go tomorrow. It is just one day.’

It wasn’t just one day, but Draco didn’t have the words to explain. His father would have another excuse and then another; eventually his mother would take him on her own. After a quick wipe of his mouth, his father stood and kissed his mother on her cheek, before he bid them both fair well.

They sat uncomfortable in the silence that was created with his father’s departure, as always. His mother sipped her water and Draco picked at his food. Her expression became troubled when she broke their mutual silence. 

‘If going today means that much to you, I could always take you on my own.’

‘No.’ 

It was too abrupt and too stern. He felt guilty the moment he said it, but he didn’t need to clarify. They’d had this conversation many times before. It wasn’t the shopping he’d been looking forward to. 

‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m not very hungry this morning.’

#

That night Draco snuck out of his room, hid in the alcove just past his parents bedroom and waited for his father to come home. He’d missed dinner and Draco wanted to see him before he went to bed himself. When his father thought no one was looking, he seemed more like a real person, and Draco loved hiding around corners and watching his parents when they let their guards down.

It was dark when Draco’s father walked down the hallway, so his wand was lit. Soon Draco would be allowed to do that as well. He couldn’t wait. The light made his face stand out against everything around him, and Draco could see lines that never seemed there in the daylight. He looked softer at night, walking to his bedroom, thinking about one thing or another.

His father made it to his bedroom door and paused—he always did—peaking through the wide crack his mother always left the door at. Opened enough it said _I’m waiting_ to his father and closed enough it said _not now_ to Draco. His father would watch her, just as Draco would, before he’d heard the footsteps, as she brushed her hair and applied her potions for the night. 

It was the only time he saw his father smile. 

He smiled more with his eyes than his mouth, but it too lifted into an expression that made him seem a very young man instead of an overworked, tired politician and father.

Draco knew his mother could see his father. He’d sat at her vanity and checked the angles to be sure how close he was allowed to come to the door without being seen. He also enjoyed looking through her vanity. The mirror, at his mother’s height, saw from the bottom of the decorative nob’s plate to just above where Draco imagined his father’s head was. 

His father stepped forward, pushing the door open another centimetre or two, and Draco could see his smile brighten. He imagined his eyes were meeting his mother's, and he had to imagine what her face looked like with natural smile; Draco had never seen it.

His father would enter and close the door behind him, then Draco would run to his bedroom as fast as possible without making noise. But that night, his father didn’t get through the door before his mother said, ‘Draco’s curtains caught fire again this morning.’ 

His father, caught off guard, forgot to shut the door as he made his way into the room. 

‘Dally fixed them, of course,’ she continued, ‘but we need to do something about this. We’ve been lucky so far no one has been hurt.’

‘Except, Dobby.’

His mother hummed. ‘He’s simply curious about fire. Dally says he’s fine and if we can get the fires to stop, then Dobby won’t be so attracted to them. It’s a phase, he’ll find something new interesting and grow out of it.’

‘You’d think the burns would have fixed that fascination the first time around.’

‘Lucius,’ his mother said after a deep sigh. ‘You’re changing the subject. We need to fix this. What if he starts a fire in his dorm room with everyone's sleeping and no house-elves around?’

Were they talking about him?

‘He’ll have his wand by then—’

‘He was supposed to have his wand _today_.’ 

Draco could picture the look she gave his father then: disappointment pinching her eyebrows and frustration thinning her lips. The reminder made his stomach churn with anger. 

‘I’m sorry, didn’t I say—’

‘We’re not even sure having his wand will stop the erratic magic; and no, you did not say.’ 

He heard his mother stand and walk closer to his father, so he slunk back deep in the alcove. 

‘We’ll get his wand tomorrow and if simply having it doesn’t settle him down, then I’ll look into it. I promise. He won’t be setting random fires at school.’

‘You’ll look into it?’ She snorted. ‘He’s angry, Lucius. He can’t control it as well when he is sleeping. The fire is a very obvious representation of it. Perhaps, you should be figuring out how to help that, instead of...close the door and come to bed.’

Draco stayed on the floor leaning against the wall and staring into the darkness. 

Moments later, he had to force his limbs to move, to pick himself up and to walk back to his room. He’d never considered—and his parents had never told him—why had they never told him? Unaware of his surroundings, he walked down the hall to his bedroom. His right arm brushing the walls, his hand brushing the doors to guide him in his contemplative state.

‘Draco, are you alright?’ the faint voice of a ghost said.

He jumped, but mercifully didn’t scream, and turned to see Lyra floating just outside her own bedroom door. 

‘You never _walk_ down this hall; is something wrong?’

Aware that he was standing at the door just before his own he jumped again and backed into his doorway. When he looked at her again, she was smirking down on him. He was older than her—in a way—but she liked to float just above his head to where she had to look down to meet his eyes.

‘I’m fine, Lyra.’

She squinted at him as though she didn’t believe him.

‘D-did you...did you know that I was starting the fires in my sleep?’

‘Oh,’ she started and Draco was sure she’d have a blush on her cheeks if she could. ‘I told them.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I thought you were too grown up to talk to me anymore?’ She folded her arms across her chest and looked far too much like their mother when she turned her head away not to look at him. ‘I thought they could tell you.’

‘Well, _they_ decided not to,’ he said and then muttered, ‘like always.’ He stepped backwards, farther into his room. ‘I’m going to bed. You can...you can come in, if you want to.’

‘You sure?’

He took a moment to pretend to think about it, before he said, ‘Yeah,’ with a shrug and then, ‘it’s my last month before I go to Hogwarts,’ as if it was an explanation.

#

Draco’s father kept his word, and they all did go to Diagon Alley the next day.

‘How _do_ they know which house to place us in?’ Draco knew he belonged in Slytherin, but what if they made a mistake? Mistakes happened around him all the time. Finding out the fires were his fault had shaken him. What other mistakes had been his fault that his parents felt he wasn’t mature enough to know about? What if the Sorting Hat saw he was starting fires in his sleep and thought that meant he should be in Gryffindor?

‘You have nothing to worry about,’ his mother said, ‘you’ll be welcome in whichever house you're chosen for.’ 

His father gave her a look that said he didn’t agree with her there, but he kept his mouth shut. Draco didn’t agree with her either. She might accept him no matter where he was placed, but his father would only be happy with Slytherin. Draco would only be happy with Slytherin.

‘You’re a perfect fit for Slytherin,’ his father reassured him. ‘If that’s what you want, then that’s where you’ll be.’ As they came up to a corner, his father cleared his throat. ‘You two go on, I want to hop by the Owlery.’

‘No, come with us.’ Draco knew he was whining, but he couldn’t help it. His parents always did this. His father cut from them then and his mother dragged him off to get his robes, while his father went to one of the more interesting shops without them.

At the robe shop, his mother teased him about getting some blue, and he rolled his eyes at her and quit talking to her. ‘Well, if I’m not needed,’ she said, ‘I’ll go pay now and head on to Ollivander’s and you can meet me there.’

‘Why? You can’t pick out a wand without me, can you? I thought the wand has to choose the wizard?’ He quickly added, ‘or witch,’ at a look from his mother.

‘We won’t pick one out until you get there.’ She turned away from him in the pretence of paying for his robes, but he could tell she was hiding from him. ‘I just want to speak to him is all.’

About the fire. 

Would they tell everyone except him? He felt the anger rising and pushed it down. He had to learn to control it before school began. He wondered what his father would get at the Owlery and tried to be happy about getting a pet of his own, finally. He’d never been allowed a pet before. It shouldn’t have surprised him that once he was allowed one his father would pick it out for him, but he wished he could at least be there and give some input.

He waited for them to finish pinning him and soon someone came to stand beside him. Another boy for Hogwarts. He wore the shabbiest clothes Draco had ever seen, but he of course kept that to himself. No one got to choose their family, after all. 

Draco was taking in that his parents didn’t even bother to fix the boy’s obviously broken glasses when their eyes met. Chills ran down Draco’s spine as they often did when he was nervous. He had to look away to keep from blushing, or saying something stupid like how the boy had the most beautiful eyes.

Green. 

He’d look amazing in Slytherin colours. 

Draco stuck himself with a pin to kill that train of thought. Two years ago, they’d had a local teenager work with their gardener in the summer. Draco followed him around and loved to see him smile, which he always was. He had the roundest cheeks that dimpled when he smiled. His parents encouraged it for a while. Abel taught Draco a lot about plants as well as keeping him out of his parents way.

They had a Labyrinth and Abel often worked deep inside it. With no one looking, Draco found reasons to brush up against him or have him _show_ Draco how to cut the bushes evenly. It didn’t take Abel long to catch on, and Draco was sure he’d tell his parents but he didn’t. 

When Draco got too close, Abel took a step back. He was the first person to tell Draco no in a way that Draco didn’t feel demeaned by it. He liked spending time with Draco and teaching him about his work, but there were certain things that were not acceptable. Kissing him, even on the cheek, made Abel feel uncomfortable and wasn’t allowed. 

Lyra laughed for ages about that.

It was Draco who’d slipped up and talked about Abel’s smile to his parents. At the time, Draco wasn’t aware it was a slip up, but like most of them, the silence and chill that filled the air just after he said it told him more than when his parents explained to him what he’d done wrong. 

Abel was gone the next day. They said they had a friend who needed him more than they did. 

Draco talked when he was nervous and the more the boy next to him with the beautiful green eyes—which he really needed to quit thinking of him as— _didn’t_ talk the more nervous he became. 

He tried all the topics he’d had on his own mind sure that they’d have to be on the other’s as well—being first years, school houses, and even Quidditch—but received nothing but one word answers and negativity. Though him being an orphan at least explained the clothes, Draco decided not to ask him if any family took him in as talking about orphanages wouldn’t lighten the conversation any.

When Draco was done, he left him with a down-hearted, ‘I suppose I’ll see you around.’

He met with his mother, and Ollivander already had a stack of wands for him to try on the counter. ‘Ah,’ he greeted Draco. ‘Your mother has told me so much about you already, my favourite type of customer.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. Draco didn’t believe for a second Ollivander was telling the truth. 

Draco waited until he handed him a wand to try, and on the third one he’d already found his wand. The day hadn’t turned out at all how Draco planned it. They found Father not long after they left the wand shop; he’d purchased all of Draco’s books after he left the Owlery. With everything done, they headed home. Draco fed his owl, his mother worked on her needle point and then had tea with some visiting cousins; his father drank with their husbands. 

With nothing better to do, he went to find Lyra who, as usual, was in her room with the others.

Three transparent, blond girls floated in their usual spots as they watched the toys around them play by themselves. The youngest two giggling and then giggling at the other’s giggling, and the oldest watched them from the rocking chair, looking far older than she had any right to. 

Draco’s first year at Hogwarts would have been her last. 

They were all older than him, in a way.

#

One of the most famous Wizards of all time was the same age as Draco. His was a story whispered about in the way fairy tales were told—by everyone assumed that everyone already knew. Draco always thought there was supposed to be a lesson in it somewhere. His parents never told him of the story of Harry Potter, but it was a hard story to miss. The darkest Wizard their world had ever seen, who had murdered hundreds of people, was defeated by a baby.

At a year old, Harry Potter became a hero and an orphan.

Potter’s first week at Hogwarts, he was sorted into Gryffindor and then spent the rest of the time proving why he belonged there. He couldn’t understand why rules applied to him as well, never paid attention in class and couldn’t even answer questions that were covered in their introductory reading.

Harry Potter also—without reason that Draco knew of—hated Draco the moment he said his name. Had Potter refused to be Draco’s friend after they were sorted, it would have been easy to see the reason. Gryffindors and Slytherins were rivals from the beginning. As Malfoy was a well-respected name, and that was all Potter knew of him, Draco could only figure he hated him for the competition he saw Draco as. 

The worst part wasn’t that the great and famous Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was a Gryffindor just as his parents before him. 

It wasn’t just that being the same age as Harry Potter meant Draco did have to compete with him—someone already so famous that most of the teachers as well as the students would bend the rules and side with. (After all, he saved the world from being taken over by Voldemort, even the most fair person would have a hard time not being grateful and having that leak into their own judgement.)

It was that Harry Potter was the-boy-with-the-beautiful-green-eyes that Draco had met in the robe shop.

‘What are you looking at?’ Pansy Parkinson asked during breakfast one morning. ‘You always stare across the hall instead of eating.’ 

He didn’t answer her, but her put upon sigh told him she’d figured it out on her own.

‘Another letter,’ she said, taking his attention away from the Gryffindors, ‘she must be so lonely without you.’

Draco almost scoffed at the idea of his mother being lonely, but silently thanked Pansy for giving him the most obvious lie. Of course, she missed him—the poor dear—she didn’t write him daily because she needed to make sure he was being the perfect son. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. 

‘She is proud of me for the points I’ve earned so far,’ Draco lied. As Crabbe and Goyle would probably not bring the house any points on their own, it was Draco’s duty to pick up the slack _as well as for anyone else he noticed not doing their share_ per his father. Leaders and achievers worked hard. As a first year, he was too young and didn’t have the power to force—no, _ask_ without no being an option—anyone to do anything. He needed to earn that respect, and he had to work to earn it. By being the best. At everything.

Only Draco didn’t have the patience that both Nott and Zabini had, even if he was the brightest out of the lot. He didn’t have the laissez-faire that Queenie and Millie had, where they laughed off any insult thrown at them. It was why Pansy fell in with him so quickly. She was the only one who really listened to him, even if half of the things he told her were lies.

‘We’re going to Paris the summer,’ she said as though she was making it up on the spot. Hadn’t they gone to Paris over Christmas as well? Or had she said Italy? ‘Have you ever been to France, Draco?’

‘Of course.’ He had, but he didn’t remember anything in particular about it. Shopping was shopping, and his mother took him all over the world shopping. It was probably what she was doing then. As Pansy talked of her plans for France, he pictured his mother—and one relative or friend or another—drinking tea in Switzerland or having robes made in Italy. Looking for magical toys that the girls could play with without having to touch. Looking for something for him to attach a note to:

_I found this in Brazil and just had to get it for you. Wouldn’t you say it was worth 25 house points; I know Slytherin is ahead, but every little bit helps. So proud of you._

_— Love Mother_

How many house points did he owe them still?

‘What do parents do without their children?’ Draco asked, and saying it made him feel much better. ‘Their lives must be so dull without us.’

‘I know.’ Pansy smirked; her eyes met his and held when she added, ‘My parents dote on me so, I know they must be perfectly miserable without me there to keep them entertained.’

Yes, she was lying too. 

Her parents had yet to write her, unless she hid them somehow. Draco never hid his, and he knew she read them over his shoulder when she could. He liked Pansy, but he didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth. If she figured him out herself and kept quiet about it all, then she was worth keeping around.

#

Draco tried to mind his own business. He’d been doing really well, but there were some words it was impossible for him to not overhear. Dragon was one of those words. Not just because his mother sometimes called him Dragon, so it was almost like someone had been calling his name.

But he loved dragons.

And Weasley shouted secrets when he talked about them, instead of waiting until no one was around or whispering about them like any sane person would. Honestly, what did Potter see in him?

The gamekeeper was hiding a dragon egg in his hut, and it was going to hatch soon!

It was against not just school rules but also the law. 

Draco had no intention of telling anyone about it. Pansy would freak and most certainly turn them in. Crabbe and Goyle were the worst at keeping secrets. Zabini and Nott had already made a rule that Draco wasn’t allowed to say the names Potter, Weasley or Granger around them anymore. They only wanted to talk about schoolwork, the Ravenclaws. They didn’t find that as insulting as Draco had hoped they would. Everyone started calling them the Ravenclaws and they _loved_ it.

No, the dragon would be a secret he only shared with Potter and his friends. Draco liked the idea of that. He kept catching himself smiling at the thought as he waited for morning break to arrive. As soon as class let out, he raced down toward the gamekeeper's hut. At the top of the hill just outside the school, Draco saw the front door close. He took the long way down the hill instead of the path and came up beside the hut.

He could hear their voices, but not what they were saying. After crouching down underneath the window listening for a moment, he peeked over the sill. They were all busy staring down at the egg as it began to crack open. Potter, Weasley, and Granger with Hagrid. Draco’s breath caught as he saw the dragon’s head poke out. He’d never seen a dragon in real life, and he wished he could get closer and feel its scales.

It was black with orange eyes and though white dragons were Draco’s favourite, he thought it was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. But then Hagrid jumped up, staring right at Draco. Draco fell back and then pushed himself off the ground, running to the school as quickly as he could. 

He hadn’t wanted them to know.

Pansy caught him as he ran into the dungeons. ‘What are you doing?’

He opened his mouth, but the truth died on his tongue. He’d never wanted to talk about something more, but he couldn’t. If he told anyone, the dragon would be sent away. He had to see it again. 

Every chance he got he ran out to the hut and peeked through the window. He was more careful to keep an eye on Hagrid and duck anytime he looked toward the window, but as the dragon grew Hagrid became too distracted to see Draco watching. 

One day Hagrid was gone when Draco came to watch the dragon. The dragons was sleeping, and it looked innocent as its back rose and fell with its soft breathing. He’d often wondered if dragons could really be tamed. One of the Weasleys was a dragon keeper. They didn’t call them tamers for a reason. Hagrid had been the first thing the dragon saw, and Draco had watched it on more than one occasion almost bite him or catch him on fire.

He hated fire, but he loved Dragons.

Draco had studied up on dragons from the first day it had hatched, and he knew the spells to protect himself if something bad happened. Draco crept around the brush outside Hagrid’s hut toward the front door. After making sure there was no one around, he got up and tried the door. 

It was locked. He tried an unlocking spell, but it didn’t work. His shoulders fell, half in disappointment and half in relief. The dragon couldn’t get him, but then again he didn’t get to touch the dragon.

He heard footsteps behind him and ran to the side of the hut. Weasley and Hagrid were coming to feed it. He fed it rats, which was disgusting, but Draco liked to watch Weasley’s expression as he fed it. Even Weasley knew that Hagrid was out of his mind. 

Then it bit Weasley and Draco snorted.

He liked this dragon more and more. 

The next morning Weasley and Potter were whispering over a letter. Draco saw Weasley put it in his Charms book, and by that afternoon Weasley was in the hospital wing from the dragon’s bite. With one hand and Madam Pomfrey as a witness, Draco was safe from Weasley. After all, the dragon was their secret and he hadn’t thought to stick around when he was first caught spying to revel in it.

He simply had to stop by. 

‘How’s your hand?’ Draco smirked as he sat next to the bed. Weasley’s bag was next to his bed and his books were spilling out of it. When Ron took a swing at him, Draco grabbed the book out Weasley’s bag as he ducked to avoid his fist and back up with his hands in the air. ‘I simply came by to borrow a book.’

Draco showed Weasley the book before asking again, ‘How’s your hand?’

‘It’s fine!’ Weasley grit his teeth, but kept an eye on Madam Pomfrey as she walked their way again. ‘It was just a small dog’s bite.’

‘Whose dog?’ 

The colour drained from Weasley’s face. He hadn’t thought through his lie before he came to Madam Pomfrey? He’d had all day.

‘That is none of your business; you’ve got what you came for now leave.’

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘I should tell her the truth you know.’ He nodded toward Pomfrey. ‘You could hurt yourself worse by lying to her. It’s against school rules. It could hurt someone other than Hag—your friend.’ Draco looked pointedly at Weasley’s hand.

‘If you tell anyone, I’ll—’

‘I’m going,’ Draco called to Madam Pomfrey and then waved to Weasley on his way out. ‘The infection seems to be poisoning his brain.’

Of course, Draco wasn’t going to turn them in. It was too late. He’d only be getting himself in trouble with them by not telling sooner at that point. He didn’t know why, but he simply wanted Weasley to acknowledge he was wrong, or that Hagrid was. He’d endangered the life of a student and then just expected them all to continuing lying for him.

As soon as he found a private place, he flipped through the book and found the letter.

It was from the dragon keeper brother.

He’d be taking the dragon away on Saturday.

#

‘These chocolates are amazing,’ Pansy said, ‘Draco, don’t you want one?’

Draco shook his head. ‘You can have them, Pansy. Just don’t let Crabbe and Goyle know. I normally let them have them all.’

‘Well, stop. I’ll take them from now on.’

‘You won’t want to eat all of them.’ If he ended a week owing house points or one of his marks were lower than his parents like, he’d have a new box to share. Even Crabbe and Goyle no longer ate them as though they’d never have another chance. 

There would always be more, because Draco couldn’t keep up. 

Pansy studied him for a moment. ‘Why don’t you eat them?’

‘They’re milk chocolate and filled with cake,’ Draco said without thinking.

‘So,’ Pansy said thoroughly confused.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as he rubbed his face. He wasn’t going to tell her, but he’d already said too much. The stupid dragon was making him lose his focus. Pansy began to figure it out aloud and Draco wished she keep it to herself, but the express on her face—wide-eyed and waiting for confirmation—meant her statements were really all questions.

‘I’ve never seen you eat cake before...or pie...or chocolate...or—I’d thought you were concerned about your weight, but...you’re allergic...?’

Draco snorted at the idea of being concerned about his weight—he was too thin for a boy—but that was answer enough for her. Milk was more an intolerance as it wouldn’t make him breakout in a rash from head to toe like wheat would, but it was equally as unpleasant. He could have dark chocolate as long as there was no filling, but he had never been a fan of sweets. The sweetest thing he liked was fruit. Nothing was a good as a juicy apple, and that was what he finished every meal with while people all around him ate pies, cakes, and cookies. 

‘But your mother is always sending you...’

‘I’m behind on house points.’ It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. He stood up and said, ‘I’m going to bed.’ 

She was too surprised to consider the time. It was far too early for bed. In the dorm room, Blaise wasn’t as easy to convince. ‘You’re not reading tonight, Draco?’ Blaise asked as Draco was about to pull his curtains closed. He looked up to see Crabbe and Goyle squinting at a book and arguing about exactly what a shrinking charms did. He sighed. Of course, he was.

‘What were we working on?’

‘How about Charms?’ Nott suggested.

Draco pulled out his charms book, opened it to the chapters they were assigned over the weekend, and began to read them in a loud clear voice. It took Draco repeating the first paragraph three times before Crabbe and Goyle took notice and quieted down to listen as they followed along in their own books.

Nott and Blaise sat at their desks and began writing up their essays. Draco could write his after everyone was asleep, he had some place to be at midnight anyway.

#

Draco’s heart pounded as he made his way through the dark castle. It was the first time he’d broken a school rule, and he was afraid his heart would give out before he got to the tower. He left an hour early to make sure he’d have enough time to get there without getting caught. He had to cut down two corridors to avoid Prefects and up a flight of stairs to avoid Filch.

He’d barely settled down to wait in shadows when he ran into Professor McGonagall. His stomach dropped and pulse ran. She grabbed him and dragged him down the stairs. The only thing he heard during her rant was that he’d lost twenty points and got a detention. He pleaded telling her about dragon, because what did it matter then anyway? 

Of course, _he_ wasn’t Harry Potter, so she didn’t believe him.

The detention he received was a nightmare that Draco dreamt about for months afterwards. He’d never understand how forcing students to break school rules as a punishment for breaking school rules was intended to work—it certainly didn’t for Potter. 

Draco wondered if Potter was ever plagued by nightmares or if he’d laugh at the thought. Though he had no desire to ever enter the Forbidden Forest again—even if it was with Potter—the threat of it wasn’t what kept him from breaking the rules. The points and his house’s disappointment with him “falling for Potter’s lies” had been enough. No one believed him about the dragon. 

Draco’s parents finding out would have been enough. 

His father believed in dealing with things right away, so Draco wasn’t used to delayed punishments. The news took a bit longer to get to his parents. After a sleepless night dreaming about sliver blood, Draco came down to breakfast to a package from both his parents. It held a gold box with a silver ribbon. When he opened the box it held chocolate, as it usually did, and Pansy along with Crabbe and Goyle perked up.

They weren’t store bought chocolates, but were pressed with the Malfoy seal.

Crabbe grabbed for one without asking—after all, Draco never ate his chocolates; even if there were only six of them, he’d be giving them all away—but Draco snapped the box shut before Crabbe’s hand made it in.

‘No one gets these.’ 

Draco didn’t stay to eat nor answer questions. He got up and walked quickly outside to burn them. The fire was small and he played with the colours of it as he watched the box and its contents burn. He could smell Pansy’s perfume, before she came to stand beside him.

‘Were they dark chocolate?’

‘Yes.’

Pansy slipped her hand into Draco’s and leaned her head against his shoulder; it was almost like being with Lyra. She understood without him saying anything more. It was _almost_ like being with Lyra, except he could touch Pansy.

#

As Draco watched the Slytherin colours change to Gryffindor, he saw more eye rolls than outrage around him, and the cheering from all three of the other houses shook the room. They couldn’t win fairly, so they cheated.

Draco tried to remember the last time a Ravenclaw was given points for being witty or a Hufflepuff for being loyal, but where he could imagine the possibility he knew a Slytherin had never been given house points for being cunning or ambitious. They never said, ‘Oh you broke this rule, but it was with such ambition and cleverly done have ten points.’ 

Draco didn’t care anymore. 

After the chocolates, all he thought about was school work. Because Gryffindors were oblivious to their surrounds and the universe hated him, Potter, Granger and Weasley hadn’t seen Draco standing right down the hall as they ran and shouted about Snape trying to steal some stone from the third corridor. 

But Draco didn’t care anymore. 

He didn’t care if they got caught. He didn’t care if they were rightly punished for it. He didn’t even care if they got themselves hurt doing the obviously stupid thing they were doing. He didn’t care if they destroyed the world in the process. He didn’t care if he never got to be a part of whatever they were doing.

He had watched them run past and had gone about his day as if they hadn't exist.

#

_I could tell them about the burned apron, about swallowing that hot shard of a thing I had loved. It often made them laugh. — Kim Fu_

#

A grey light filled Draco’s room as a thick fog hid the sun and caused a glow that lit the dust in the air. His sleep-filled eyes thought it was Lyra dancing by his window, but as he sat up he saw the space empty. She wouldn’t be there, not at Hogwarts.

Draco’s third year at Hogwarts began as dull as his first year was bitter.

Other than being attacked by a dangerous creature during one of his classes, and Potter having to chop—though it was much more of a mutilate—all his potion ingredients for a couple of weeks, the days all bled into each other.

‘You awake?’ Blaise whispered and Draco looked to see Blaise at his desk playing around with some make-up charms. That must have been what had woken him.

‘What are you doing?’

Blaise snorted. ‘You know what I’m doing.’ Then he smirked. ‘Why don’t you come join me?’

‘No, thank you.’ Draco lay back down only to be disturbed a moment later when Blaise brought out one of his charms books and began flipping through it.

‘I’m not letting you dress me up, so go away.’

‘I’m only trying to help.’

‘I’m not interested in being a girl.’

Blaise nodded and said, ‘But you are interested in being with boys.’

‘I am _not_.’

‘Well,’ Blaise added to himself, ‘one boy.’

‘Go away.’

‘What if I could get you date with him?

Draco took too long that time in telling Blaise to shove off, and he took it as a yes.

‘I’ve been making something, and I want you to do it with me.’

Curious he asked, ‘What are you making?’

‘A gender-swapping potion.’ He held up a hand shushing Draco before he could begin to protest. ‘I don’t want to do this alone, please, and I want someone who’s attractive to do it with me. Crabbe looks like Millicent as a girl, and Goyle tried to give me a black eye when I asked him anyway.’

‘Crabbe already tried the potion?’

‘I’m assuming he’d look like Millicent.’

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Ask Nott.’

Blaise choked on his laugh trying to hold it in, and then Draco did the same. He quickly silence the area around them before they burst into laughter. 

‘Could you imagine his face?’ Blaise asked as Draco began turning red from laughing.

‘Do you remember the first time he caught you dressed as a girl? I thought he might faint.’

‘He fell for it too; he was trying to pick me up before I spoke and he recognised my voice.’

As Draco got himself under control, he sat up and crossed his legs in front of Blaise. ‘Why do you want to do this anyway? I thought you said you didn’t want to be a girl and you just liked the clothes.’

‘I just want to make sure, you know?’

Draco wanted to say he knew nothing at all about what Blaise was talking about, but there were things Draco wanted to be sure about as well. It wasn’t his fault that the Slytherin girls weren’t very pretty, and that Potter had the most beautiful eyes.

‘How are you planning on doing it?’

‘On the next Hogsmeade’s weekend.’

‘But, Potter can’t go to Hogsmeade.’

Blaise arched an eyebrow at Draco, but otherwise ignored Draco’s misstep. 

‘My clothes should fit you, we’re about the same size—’

‘We might lose size as girls.’

‘I know some alterations...and I can do your hair and then we just go shopping like everyone else.’

Draco sighed and lay back down. Blaise would only keep asking, so Draco gave in. The next Hogsmeade weekend was just after the Slytherin/Hufflepuff match. Slytherin won and Draco had agreed that they’d work on their outfits after the game. He bathed quickly and went to meet Blaise who said he’d wait for him, but instead of Blaise, Cedric Diggory—Hufflepuff Seeker—was there.

‘Malfoy,’ he said stepping toward him. ‘Hi.’ He ran a hand through his hair much like how Potter did when he was nervous. ‘I wanted to tell you...great game.’

‘Oh,’ Draco said, ‘thanks.’

Then he saw Blaise standing down the hall giving him a motioning for him to...Draco wasn’t sure what those gestured meant, so he ignored them. They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a beat, and then Draco said, ‘Well, I’ll see you around?’

‘Wait,’ Diggory said, ‘Uh, Draco—can I call you Draco?’

Draco nodded.

‘Great, I’m Cedric.’

‘I know.’

‘Right, I was wondering if you are busy next weekend?’ 

Blaise had come closer and was listening in on their conversation.

‘It’s a Hogsmeade weekend...I promised a friend I’d do him a favour this weekend.’

‘But,’ Blaise said, walking toward them and cutting into their conversation. ‘It’ll only take a little while. He’s not busy on Sunday at all.’

‘Blaise!’

‘What? You’re not.’ Blaise looked at Cedric. ‘And you are definitely interested.’

Draco glared at Blaise. ‘Are you _sure_ you’re the straight one?’

‘I’m sure you’re the gay one; and my sexual orientation doesn’t matter right now, because I’m not the one who was just asked about by a gorgeous fifth year.’ Blaise smirked at Cedric. ‘You _are_ gorgeous.’

Cedric laughed. ‘I know.’

‘See, he knows. You love confidence, Draco.’

Draco rolled his eyes.

‘Well, he envies confidence. Same thing really.’ Blaise looked to Cedric. ‘So Sunday is good for you? Where would you like to meet?’

‘Um, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’

‘Merlin, that’s adorable. It’s that adorable, Draco?’

‘As a kitten.’ 

And then Blaise was dragging him away, promising Draco would meet him. And Draco couldn’t get the stupid lopsided grin Cedric had on his face as they left out of his head. So maybe, perhaps, Draco might find some boys attractive. That didn’t mean he was gay and really thirteen was far too young to date. Just because Blaise was ready didn’t mean Draco was ready. He was perfectly fine staying in, studying and thinking about boys he didn’t necessarily have crushes on.

‘No, grey,’ Blaise said, ‘it is almost like you are trying to wash yourself out. You are pale and blonde; you need colour.’

‘How come you get to wear grey?’

‘Because, Draco, I have plenty of colour. I’m also not _only_ wearing grey.’

Blaise shifted through his accessories and pulled out a pink belt. 

‘Merlin, no. No pink. I look horrible in pink.’

‘Relax, it’s for me not you. I look great in pink.’

‘You look great in everything.’

‘I know,’ he said with a smirk. ‘I’ll be kind. Blue?’

Blaise had a lot of dresses and skirts, and he seemed determined to get Draco in one or the other. The blue was bright, but at least it might bring colour out in his eyes instead of washing him out completely. Why was he even putting any thought into this? He didn’t care.

‘You know girls can wear trousers.’

‘I’m only asking for once, Draco. Not every weekend.’

Draco sighed. ‘Put me in whatever you want.’

The look that came over Blaise face made him instantly regret that, but the look on Nott’s face when he entered the dorm room made up for anything Blaise came up with.

‘What _are_ you doing!’

#

Draco looked much like his sisters, in a way. His mother had a painting made when he was four that had him and his siblings in it all together. It was charmed to have them age as they would in life, so Draco knew what his sisters—all of them as they were older—would have looked like at his age.

Not for the first time, he wished they were there and not just because he could ask one of them to do this instead of him. If Blaise knew about them, he might have wanted Draco to do this even more. To compare. Vela would have been a fifth year.

Draco wore the bright blue dress with buttons down the front and black shiny shoes. Blaise a grey dress with the pink belt and shoes to match them both. Crabbe stayed silent, but watched them through the entire process as he pretended to read on his bed. Goyle kept making snide comments, but everyone simply ignored him until he shut up. Nott said nothing. Blaise winked at Nott on his way out, dragging Draco behind him.

The nervousness didn’t hit Draco until they made it out of the dungeon. 

‘What if they can tell?’

‘How would they be able to tell?’

Draco wasn’t sure, but he felt as though their eyes were boring into him. 

The worst thing possible happened. They ran into Potter. He’d just waved goodbye to Granger and Weasley, and Draco ran right into him. He must have been staring too hard. Blaise laughed.

‘Sorry,’ Potter said. He’d grabbed Draco’s arm to balance him. Draco wasn’t used to these shoes that must have been it. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ Draco pulled away. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Do I know you?’

Potter studied his face, and for the first time make eye contact with Draco without glaring.

‘Oh,’ Blaise said, ‘we’re in that house you feel is too beneath you to notice. We pass by everyday, but when we’re in Slytherin colours you just can’t seem to see us.’ He grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him away before he could say anything.

Potter stood stunned, watching them leave, watching Draco’s eyes.

‘I can’t believe you did that.’

‘Eyes don’t change,’ Blaise said.

‘So?’

Blaise stopped and turned Draco to face him. ‘Look at me.’

Draco did.

‘Look at my eyes. Can you not see me?’

Draco saw what he meant and shivered. Potter did see them everyday and even starred into Draco’s eyes, but he couldn’t see what he didn’t want to see and he didn’t want to see Draco staring back at him.

‘You have a date tomorrow. He is gorgeous _and_ he likes you.’

But what did he want from Draco?

Speak of the devil and there he stood. Cedric walked toward them with a group of his friends. He didn’t see them standing there either. Not until a boy next to him noticed and pointed them out. 

‘We should go,’ he told Blaise, but he was already walking in their direction. ‘Blaise, don’t do this to me.’

‘Hello,’ Blaise said, ‘how are we today?’ He did that thing that Draco hated. He checked out the only girl in their group and was so obvious about it that Cedric laughed.

‘It looks like you’re out of luck, mate,’ he said to the boy who’d noticed them first. The girl blushed and stepped back, but Cedric held out his hand. ‘I’m Cedric. This is Alice and Ben.’

Blaise took and shook his hand. ‘I’m Blaise.’ 

Cedric’s smiled turned confused, and his eyes darted to Draco and he squinted at his face. Letting go of Blaise’s hand he reached out to Draco, and said, ‘You must be doing a favour for your friend.’ Cedric looked to his friends and said, ‘I’ll join you later alright?’ Then again he asked Draco and Blaise, ‘alright?’

Draco was reluctant, but nodded. Cedric’s friends left in confusion.

‘Blaise really loves women’s clothing.’

Cedric held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘No judgement.’

‘He’s perfect,’ Blaise said.

‘For you,’ Draco pointed out.

‘I’m not into boys.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Cedric said, ‘you know, if you came back as yourself, she’d might be interested.’

‘I might do—’

‘What do we have here,’ a voice drawled behind them. Blaise and Draco turned to see Snape. Someone must have told.

#

‘Of course,’ Headmaster Dumbledore said, ‘we had to tell your parents.’

‘No!’ Draco screamed. ‘You can’t tell my parents.’

‘And?’ Blaise said unconcerned. 

Draco rounded on him. ‘And? My parents can’t know Blaise!’

‘Why?’

‘Because my parents aren’t your mother!’

Blaise didn’t get it. He didn’t understand Draco the way Pansy did. His mother was so supportive of every thought that went through her son’s head that she once murdered one of her husbands for making a snide remark about Blaise’s obsession with clothes.

‘Had to,’ the Headmaster repeated. 

‘You mean?’ Draco swallowed. ‘They already know?’

‘I mean they are already here.’

They walked up the twisted staircase that lead to the Headmaster’s office. His parents were there. Not just his father, but his mother as well.

‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life,’ his mother said. She hadn’t seen them come in behind her yet. ‘Perseus, Caelum, they never would have done this! They were perfect.’

His father and Blaise’s mother tried to calm her down, but she pushed them both away. ‘He can’t be like this. You have to do something, Lucius. He has to get married, he has to have children.’

Draco’s gut churned and his eyes fell closed. There wouldn't be a box of chocolates after this mistake.

‘It doesn’t mean he won’t,’ Blaise’s mother pointed out. Afterall, her son was very interested in girls. Some days too interested for Draco’s mental health. ‘Blaise—’

‘He’s different.’

‘Why?’ Draco found himself saying. Because Blaise was simply eccentric? Because he would still give his mother grandchildren? Because his mother hadn't lost so many? How did she know Draco couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t want to do the same? ‘Why?’

‘Because he’s not you!’

#

That night as they were falling asleep Blaise said, ‘Maybe I just need to design better men’s clothes.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t really want to be a girl. I think I just want better clothes.’ And then, after a beat. ‘I’m sorry, Draco.’

#

Draco didn’t even look to see that the hall was deserted as he walked to meet Cedric. Cedric stood next to a window with the sun shining on him as though he was created from it. That moment Draco, still brittling with anger at his mother, decided he was ready. Instead of stopping in front of Cedric and doing their nervous dance, he kissed him.

Cedric hesitated only because of his surprise.

All they ever did was kiss, but they kissed a lot. Maybe they would’ve worked out if Draco hadn’t dropped his guard and been so honest with him. No, he didn’t love him, yet. No, he might not ever. Maybe if he lied, Cedric wouldn’t have left him for the Ravenclaw Seeker.

Or maybe, he simply got tired of hearing Draco talk about the Gryffindor one.

‘You just have a fetish for Seekers,’ Draco accused.

‘I’m not the only one.’

_There was no clean word to use, like, alcoholic. That’s what most of my friends were, later on: alcoholics born of alcoholics, abusers born of abusers. — Kim Fu_

#

Draco had no clear memories of getting marked, but he remembered afterwards going into Lyra’s room instead of his own. He stumbled up to her bed and laid where no one had since before he was born. The light smell of flowers, he was always hit with upon entering the room, was stronger than he’d ever smelt it. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

Soon he could feel a chill that notified him of her presence. She floated as though she was laying next to him but remained quiet. All the ghosts had been quiet since the Dark Lord came to stay at the manor. Grandmother Malfoy wouldn’t even leave her room. Did ghosts know more about evil and death since they were dead? He often wondered about why they stayed hidden, why they were so quiet. Too afraid to ask what he wanted to know, he asked a different question:

‘How d’you die?’

‘It was Christmas,’ she said without hesitation. Draco knew that part and had for years. He had to tip-toe around the house as though it was made of glass during the Christmas holidays. ‘There was a party, there was every Christmas. Our parents didn’t want the war affecting us, so they pretended nothing was happening at home.’ 

Draco was familiar with that. Though they had never had large parties for Christmas nor any other time of the year as long as he’d been alive. He had only known of their existence from Lyra’s stories. 

‘We were in the nursery with our cousins: Orion and Leo.’

When Aunt Bella first came to stay with them, she’d avoided the hall where their rooms were. At the end of the hall was the nursery. Draco had never been in the nursery, even when he was a baby. So when her curiosity got the best of her and she went to take a look, Draco didn’t know what it was that she saw to make her scream. And after his mother calmed her and she was put in a deep sleep for a few weeks, Draco decided he never wanted to see what was in there that could cause even _her_ to become so frightened.

‘After Aunt Bella checked on us—as she had every so often all evening—Orion said he wanted to go spy on the party. They had all sorts of sweets and filled pastries down there. I didn’t want to leave the younger ones alone, but Orion often got himself in trouble when he wandered off alone. We waited for Aunt Bella to come back again, so we could ask her to get some things for us but Orion grew impatient. 

‘He never liked sitting in the nursery and I didn’t believe for a minute he was really hungry, but...I wanted to watch the party too...so I agreed,’ she said with great disappointment in herself. ‘I took him to the back entry of the hall, hoping we’d be less noticeable. All the doors to the hall were wide opened, but the tables with the food was near the back where we came in. We hid under the table and watched the couples dance. People above us picked at the treats and left.

‘Then mum came to the table to check everything over and it made me nervous, so when she walked away I pulled on Orion’s sleeve and whispered to him, “We have to go, pick something and we’ll take it with us.” He scowled but nodded, and we each grabbed a plate: I took the spinach filled pastries—I love those—and Orion grabbed a plate of white frosted cookies.’

Draco rolled to watch her then. She—they really, everyone—rarely spoke of the boys. She starred up to the ceiling as she continued, ‘I ate a few pastries first, but the other’s started with the cookies. The frosting was soft enough for Vela to eat it, so I took one of the cookies and wiped small bits of it off for her to eat. I took bites of it as I feed her—they were covering in frosting...there was so much of it.

‘I turned around to get another cookie and felt a little dizzy. Ara and Leo were already laying down, and Orion said, ‘I’m tired’, and joined them. It was hard to stand, and then I knew we were in trouble. I spun around. I hoped it was in the cookies and not the frosting, because then Vela would be okay. We couldn’t leave. We couldn’t all leave. Mum needed us. Vela slid down in her basset. I screamed at her to wake up.’

Draco hadn’t known that ghosts could cry.

‘I said, “you can’t leave, we can’t leave.” But she was so small and already gone, so I turn to Ara and shook her. Her eyes cracked open to look at me, but they closed right after no matter how much I shook her and called her name. I shook her until my arms couldn’t hold her anymore, and then...I was standing in the corner when Aunt Bella came in and started screaming. 

'She didn’t see me.’

It was a sore point between them—his aunt and his mother—that her children stayed behind while his aunt’s boys left her. There was a rumour that they didn’t catch Bellatrix right away after she drove the Longbottoms to insanity. That the reason Neville was still alive was because Bellatrix hadn’t even attempted to kill him.

She took him and hid with him, pretending to be his mother for a week before someone found them. As a baby he knew his mother was gone, but not enough to know that Bellatrix was dangerous.

His mother said it was simply a rumour, but Draco believed it. Neville was still alive, and Draco’s aunt always acted odd around children. He could see her playing house with him as though he was her own, as though she were a child herself and he was her doll. She often did this with Draco. His aunt terrified him.

‘Who was it?’ Draco asked. ‘It had to have been a traitor. They’d be the only ones able to enter the house.’

Lyra didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t think they ever figured it out, but they weren’t like that then, Draco. Anyone in the family—mother’s or father’s—could have entered and left whenever they wanted during a party.’

Everyone? Even Andromeda? Even Sirius?

#

‘Whose tie is this?’ Blaise asked as he held up the crumpled tie he’d found on the floor. ‘Is it the one you lost, Nott?’

‘No, I’ve got all mine.’

Draco looked up. ‘Check the lining, I added everyone names to them first week, remember?’

‘Crabbe,’ Blaise called and held up the tie to him. ‘You might want to switch it with the one you’ve got on.’ Sure enough Crabbe’s tie was not only wrinkled from his many failed attempts at getting it on that morning, but it was stained from breakfast. Draco shook his head at the disaster and grabbed the tie from Blaise and spelled out the wrinkles on his way over. Crabbe pulled the tie he was wearing off as Draco made his way over to him.

It was such a routine Draco thought nothing of it as he wrapped the tie around Crabbe’s neck and whipped it into a knot. He really ought to teach him how—it had been years since the last time he tried—at that thought he glanced at Crabbe’s face. He’d been watching Draco as he fixed and straighten the tie and when their eyes met Crabbe blushed and looked away.

‘All set,’ Draco said as he stepped back.

Crabbe mumbled, ‘Thanks,’ as he backed farther away and headed out the door.

Draco grabbed his bag and sorted through the books he needed for the afternoon as Blaise walked over and stood in front of him. ‘Do you need something?’ Draco asked, barely glancing up.

‘You can’t ignore that forever.’

‘Crabbe is not a _that_ , and who says I am?’

Blaise scoffed as he brushed past him. ‘You ignore everything you consider a problem.’

‘How’s that?’

‘No,’ Nott said from the other side of the room. ‘Don’t!’ He walked toward Blaise as he continued, ‘You don’t honestly _enjoy_ listening him whine, do you? I don’t care if he’s been moody since Potter quit holding his hand through Potions—’

‘Sod off, Nott!’ It been three years since Potter had to chop ingredients for him, and he still was being teased about it.

But Nott ignored Draco, raising his voice to drowned out Draco’s. ‘We haven’t actually had to _hear_ about it, and that is a very welcome improvement.’ 

‘I’m not talking about Potter.’

‘Is there really anything else?’ Nott smirked. ‘I mean, when it comes to Malfoy.’

Blaise stepped in between them before they could hex each other. ‘Yes, Crabbe, for one.’

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘He isn’t as stupid as you seem to think he is...what do you want me to say?’ He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘He knows that I’m not like—’ The others glared at him. ‘That I’m not interested in him like that. Do you want me to not talk to him at all?’

‘Have you talked about it?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know?’

‘Because, Blaise, I know.’

In the beginning Crabbe and Goyle did whatever he asked. The year before he’d found the Room of Hidden Things when trying to get into one of the Dumbledore’s Army meetings. He’d seen the cabinet and remembered seeing one when he was shopping with his father years before. Over the summer he studied them and he knew right away: it was the best way to fulfil one of the Dark Lord’s tasks. 

So Draco brewed batch after batch of polyjuice potion. When one finished he started another, so that Crabbe and Goyle could guard the hall without getting caught.

Goyle wasn’t around and that should have clued Draco in to something being up. Crabbe said he’d met Draco at the room, but after two minutes of waiting Potter came slumping down the hallway. They’d run into each other there before, and Draco prepared himself for a fight. He could handle him for a while as he waited for Crabbe. As Potter came closer, Draco could tell something was wrong. Potter was fidgety and nervous. 

‘Why?’ Draco closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘If he comes now, he’ll freak, Crabbe.’

‘How d’you know it was me?’

He looked up and studied Crabbe. Had he not wanted Draco to know it was him? There were multiple things that gave it away, really. That they’d agreed to met there, that he didn’t walk at all like Potter, but Draco said, ‘Glasses.’ 

‘Oh.’ Crabbe touched his face.

Looking closer, Crabbe was still in his own uniform, which hung off Potter’s body as it was much too large for him. Crabbe had thought to take off all the things that suggested he was a Slytherin. Draco heard footsteps and rushed back and forth outside the entrance.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What if it’s him and he sees you like this? Or worse, what if it isn’t and you have to act like him?’ When the door opened, Draco grabbed Crabbe’s arm and dragged him inside. They were alone then with this thing between them that Draco didn’t have the words to fix. Blaise was right and he couldn’t keep ignoring how Crabbe felt about him forever. They had to talk about it whether he wanted to or not.

‘You know we’re cousins, right?’ 

Crabbe rolled his eyes. ‘Distant cousins.’

Draco took a deep breath. Why did he have to confront Draco in such a tempting package? It was true that he and Potter were also distant cousins, but a bit more distant than he and Crabbe were. He’d even met Crabbe at a family gathering.

‘I know that you don’t...feel the same way...about me.’

It was hard for Draco to breath. Even with Crabbe—one of the slowest people he knew—shoving the truth in his face about his own inappropriate desires, Draco couldn’t admit it. When did Crabbe become more emotionally secure than him? Had he always been? Did he talk to Goyle about this, or was it his first time voicing it? He leaned toward Draco as if to kiss him.

‘Crabbe.’ He had to say his name. Remind himself who he was really talking to, even though he couldn’t take his eyes off Potter’s mouth. ‘Don’t do this to yourself,’ Draco said, as he thought _Don’t do this to me._

‘I’ve thought a lot about this.’

Draco was sure he had. He’d seen him think about it. Just looking at Draco with contemplative eyes or furrowed brows, wondering something. Draco never guessed what he was wondering, well, he knew then.

‘I know you don’t want me, but I can give you something you want.’

Did he think it was only physical for Draco? Draco quit believing that two years ago. Though looking at Potter licking his lips and inching toward him, made it feel very physical. It made it difficult to push Crabbe back. Crabbe caught his elbow and pulled him closer, and he smelled _just_ like Potter. Of course he would, Polyjuice made it possible.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Draco said.

Crabbe chuckled and it sound far too much like Potter. ‘You have no control over that.’ He let Crabbe kiss him. A light opened mouth kiss that was chaise compared to his experiences with Cedric, but sent a heat through him more intense than he’d ever felt. It hurt as much as he feared it would. But he kissed Crabbe back pushing his tongue in Potter’s mouth. 

It wasn’t Potter; he still didn’t want him.

But this was what it felt like to kiss him.

This was what his hair felt like as Draco ran his fingers through it.

This was how his mouth tasted. 

Those were the sounds he made, when he was losing his breath.

This was how his hands felt pulling Draco closer, tugging at his clothes, and how his erection felt pressed against him.

It wasn’t him but: he felt like him, he smelled like him, he tasted like him.

It wasn't him, but it was more than enough.

#

He never realised how easy he was to read, but Crabbe would be there Polyjuiced as Harry every time Draco had a weak moment. He was losing his ability to the difference between them right away. More than once he’d said overly harsh things to Crabbe, thinking he was Potter trying to catch him again. 

Draco and Crabbe weren’t as careful as they should have been.

They fell asleep.

In Draco’s bed because they never did anything in Crabbe’s. In the morning no one had to have heard anything, because what was happening was clear enough without words. Crabbe stole a Gryffindor tie from someone. Draco wanted to ask if it was Harry’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Crabbe dressed in a hurry and left with Goyle who glared back and forth at both of them.

‘What?’ Draco shot at Blaise, who stood staring at Draco shaking his head. ‘You have a problem?’

Nott looked between them and made a hasty exit. 

‘What are you doing, Draco?’

Draco pushed passed him and flicked his wand at his trunk. His clothes lined up in front of him, and he pushed through them as he picked out a clean uniform to wear. Why was Blaise cornering him about it? Crabbe was an equal participant in what they were doing.

‘When I said you needed to talk about this...I didn’t mean—’

‘He came to _me_ , Blaise.’ Draco dressed as he talked, jerking on clothes in frustration. ‘Not even as himself—what was I supposed to do?’ Draco slammed his trunk closed.

‘Be stronger?’

‘Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing. I told him it was a bad idea. I told him I didn’t want to hurt him. He said he didn’t care. He knew. He understood. It’s none of your business anyway.’

‘I’m not worried about Crabbe.’ Blaise scoffed. ‘I _was_ , but now I’m not as worried about him as I’m worried about you.’

Draco took a step back and glared at Blaise. 

‘He’s getting what he wants out of this. He isn’t the one getting angrier each time.’ 

Each time? How long had he known just waiting for an opportunity to pounce on Draco?

‘I know I’m supposed to say that you’re only hurting yourself here, and you’re not gaining anything from this. But you aren’t only hurting yourself. You aren’t like Crabbe. He just clams up and goes off by himself when he’s upset. You take it out on everyone around you. So yeah, you are hurting yourself, and you aren’t gaining anything from this, but you’re hurting everyone who actually cares about you, too.’

Draco stayed silent staring at Blaise.

‘I’m telling you, because look at it from Crabbe’s perspective...he can’t tell you “no”; even if he is the one starting it every time. And I know he is, and I know he is using Pott—he’s using your weaknesses against you the way only a good friend can.’ Blaise sighed and came to stand next to Draco, letting his voice drop to a whisper even though they were alone in the room. ‘If it were really him, if it were really Potter—’ Blaise grabbed him to keep him from running away. ‘Then, as against it as I would be, I’d understand. But it isn’t, Draco. It’s not him. And that’s why it has to be you; you have to be the one to say “no”.’

#

Potter was following him around. Even a year before, Draco would have loved that. But the more Potter followed him, the more fights they had. And the more fights they had, the more Potter proved himself to be the thickest human being Draco had ever met with the most narrow point of view.

‘You quit the Quidditch team?’ It was an accusation as though this was the worst thing Draco could possibly have done. There were so many more important things to worry about. Hence, why he'd missed a couple of practices and been kicked off the team.

‘Why don’t you mind your own business, Potter?’

‘What you do is my business,’ Potter said, spitting with anger. ‘I will catch you.’

Draco couldn’t stop thinking about that. What had he meant? Why did everything Potter say have the potential for a double meaning? Because he wanted it to, of course.

#

Draco shoved the dorm room door opened and slammed it behind him. Two steps further and he stopped, looking into the frighten eyes of Harry Potter. It took a moment for Draco to collect his thoughts, but then he said, ‘What are you doing, Crabbe?’

‘When you fight with—’

Draco held up a hand to stop him and dropped his head in defeat. He looked up at Potter fidgeting and told himself over and over again that it wasn’t him, but his eyes and his body refused to listen to his brain. Draco let his head drop again and again, nodding and followed him to his.

He walked up to Potter and kissed him, then let himself be pushed him back onto the bed and undressed. He drew the curtains with a spell and then worked Potter’s red and gold tie off him, but held onto it as he removed the shirt. Merlin, why did he have kink for holding that stupid tie? He’d done the same thing with a Hufflepuff one once, but it hadn’t seemed so pathetic then.

Potter pushed inside him like so many of the times before, and began asking questions: ‘Like this? Do you like this? Do you like how this feels? Tell me you want me to touch you.’

‘I want you to touch me,’ Draco said and answered all the questions with yes’s, more’s and just like that's, until he was close to coming.

He was so easy to read. Potter pulled back as his answers became frantic and slowed down, causing Draco pull at him and beg. He wasn’t able to think his next answer through when Potter commanded, ‘Say my name.’

He said it over and over and over as he came.

Over and over again as Potter’s thrust grew faster and faster, and was coming inside him; he didn’t realise the thrust were from anger, until he felt the tears.

He hadn't even used his surname.

It would be the last time.

It had to be.

Draco wrapped his arms around the body shuttering above him tighter and tighter as he tried to calm him down.

‘Vincent?’ He waited a moment. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’

Vincent shook his head. ‘I asked; I knew what I was doing.’

#

As Draco worked on the cabinet, he thought of ways to kill Dumbledore. There were days when the pressure became too much, and then just like he did at home, he sought out the comfort of a young ghost.

‘It’s okay,’ Myrtle cooed at him. ‘You’ll figure it out; you’re brilliant.’

She was nothing like Lyra. But the more time he spent around her, the more time he wasted in the Astronomy Tower, the more he wanted to be like her, like them. To join her, to join his siblings.

It was impossible to explain depression. That was the only comfort he received from Myrtle. He didn’t have to explain to her how it was possible to be unable to get out of bed. Anyone else would say, ‘You just force yourself, you just do it.’

But she understood.

Potter would never understand him. That was why when he walked in on one of Draco’s weakest moments, he tried to kill him instead of comfort him. Because there never was any double meaning behind everything that Potter said, no matter how much Draco wished it. He didn’t understand Draco and he had no desire to. Potter enjoyed looking down him too much to ever do that.

#

_Considerate and well-behaved to the end. I got down off the chair. I left the scarf there, swinging from the momentum. — Kim Fu_

#

Everyone made mistakes, but lying around Azkaban for months waiting on a trial forced one to think of nothing else except mistakes. And Draco had a lot of them. Even happy memories led to mistakes; for instance, the summer before his first year at Hogwarts and the fires he set without realising it. It sorted itself out. With his wand, he felt more in control and slowly the fires stopped.

If he let himself, Draco could hear everything that went on outside his cell. The stone walls only made the noise around him louder. But he didn’t let himself. Instead, he let himself be dragged down into the depression Dementors caused by their mere presence. It was almost a happy thought. There was always someone worse off than you; think of how sad it must be to be a Dementor. 

It was easy to ignore the foot steps, the lock of his cell being opened and of the voice calling his name, telling him to come out of the darkness. The eyes—wide, fearful, green—were harder to ignore. The lack of feeling when seeing them worried Draco more than the numbness he’d felt since he was first sat in his cell. When had he become that numb? Was it new? Had the Dementors caused it? Though being eleven was fresh in his mind, being seventeen was escaping him. What had he felt the last time he’d seen Potter?

A different memory of fire came to him: no, he hadn’t been numb then.

Draco forced himself to stand and his legs burned as the blood returned to them. Potter held a box and Draco scowled down at it in confusion. His mother hadn’t bought him chocolate in years. He wondered if she finally realised how cruel of her it was. Most likely not. His parents weren’t the types to regret. She’d been preoccupied with more important things. Reluctantly, he took it and opened it, but Draco didn’t take one of the familiar looking chocolates out to eat them. 

He’d never be that hungry; it had never been about the side effects.

Potter shifted his feet. ‘I remembered your mother used to send these to you all the time.’ Potter looked too much like a seventeen year old as the implications hit Draco. He knew not just that Draco’s mother bought him chocolates, but which ones from which chocolatier. It almost made Draco want to eat one, but the numbness was fading and the pain was returning.

‘What are you doing here?’ Draco asked Potter. Though Draco’s first instincts told him he was here to gloat, bringing chocolate didn’t fit that picture. Most of what Potter did never fit into a solid motivation in Draco’s mind. Why had he paid that close of attention to Draco all those years ago? How had Draco never noticed him watching him until their sixth year?

‘I don’t know,’ Potter said. ‘I saved your life. I guess I wanted to make sure you were still alive.’

Draco wasn’t sure he hadn’t come by to gloat after that answer, but he looked just as uncomfortable as Draco felt. So Draco thanked him for the chocolates, for the visit, for the reminder that life went on and soon he’d have to force himself to as well. 

He wasn’t ready. He had to be insane to want more time in Azkaban, but he wasn’t ready to be the person he knew he had to be.

Of course the first question the court wanted answered was about the attempted murders during his sixth year. It was a lifetime ago, but his arm burned at the memory of receiving the Dark Mark. ‘Someone had to take my father’s place,’ he heard himself say. ‘It was a punishment, really.’

His mother was there, and Potter sat next to her. Draco had no idea what Potter was going to say, and he thought perhaps they should have talked about it during Potter’s visit. What if he said too much? Or something that made him change his mind about speaking on Draco’s behalf? Draco’s mind was addled and fighting against him. He tried to brush those silly questions away. 

What did it matter? Every piece of this was part of him, and if Potter didn’t want to defend him knowing everything then Draco didn’t want his help. The Dark Lord had marked him and gave him a task, and he was going to do it. He was going to save his mother, his father, and himself from being shunned by everyone who had ever been by their side.

After all, Slytherins only had each other. Without them, they had no reason to be alive.

He told the truth.

He didn’t look at anyone as he spoke. Not because he was ashamed, but because he didn’t want to see their satisfaction.

He told the truth about all the things they cared about, none of which matter a bit to him. They should have been the painful memories. They should have hurt to recall. He was far beyond caring anymore.

We’ve studied people for generations asking ourselves: why were people so immensely self-destructive? Why did we want something so badly only to push it away every chance we got? Did we feel we don’t deserve the things that would make us happy? Did we fear judgement from society? Or were we afraid we’d fail in achieving happiness, so it was better not to try at all?

For Draco, it was a little bit of all of them. Perhaps for all of us it’s the same depending on the situation. He didn’t want to disappoint his parents, whom he knew would never support him in what he wanted. As he couldn’t even earn the little things his parents asked for, how could he deserve the massive things he wanted? But most of all, there was no way to make someone who hated him fall in love with him as he was.

_As he was._

Draco could have studied him and learned all he needed to know about his likes and dislikes—Draco did anyway—and then modelled himself after them; but then Draco wouldn’t be himself. It wasn’t that Draco wasn’t willing to grow or even meet in the middle, but he wasn’t willing to give up himself completely. He did far too much acting as it was. If someone was to fall in love with him, Draco needed that love to be real.

The only visitor Malfoy Manor received after Draco was released from Azkaban was Harry Potter. Draco’s mother told him that Harry visited her many times while he was away. To thank her for saving his life, then to offer his support and then simply his company. The numbness that had consumed him for so long went from that thick fog to mist as she spoke of Harry. His sense of pain was returning.

What haunted Draco the most was the hope, not simply in her voice, but also welling up inside of him. A relationship with his mother was not a relationship with Draco, but it was closer than he’d ever been. Somehow his mother knew. His nervousness was too obvious or his manners too precise, or she simply knew him better than anyone else. Her eyes drifted between the two, and then she excused herself for a moment.

It turned into a long uncomfortable moment. As her absence lingered, they both fidgeted and caught glimpses of each other when they thought the other one wasn’t looking, but their eyes met more often than not. Hope. Chills ran through Draco.

‘You’ve been visiting with my mother,’ Draco said as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. He had only been home a couple of days and his nerves were still rattled. His hands caught Harry’s attention. Harry nodded and said, ‘Yes, I thought she might have wanted company.’

‘Well, I’m home now.’

Harry smiled. He shouldn’t be letting himself think of him as Harry. They weren’t friends no matter how much Harry had done for him recently.

‘Yes, you are.’ Harry rubbed his hands together and took a breath before he said, ‘I think we should start over.’ He held out his hand and Draco’s stomach jumped. How many times had he wondered if things could have gone better? They got started off on the wrong foot, but Draco could never figure out which one it was.

To cover for his stalling he attempted a joke, ‘Are you sure I’m not the wrong sort?’

It was another misstep; he knew the second he’d said it. How could Harry possibly answer? Except he knew a hundred answers that would make the moment perfect—he’d dreamt about them all. Harry saying he’d made a mistake, saying he never gave Draco a chance, saying that there really wasn’t a wrong sort—just people trying to make it the best they can. There was the of course he was the right sort, or the he was braver than Harry had ever imagined him. Perhaps him saying that ambition was a good trait, or he’d never have won against one of the Darkest Wizards of all time without being cunning himself.

‘You’ve changed,’ Harry said.

His hand hovered in the air waiting for Draco’s, which had inched forward until he’d spoken.

He’d changed?

No, Draco wasn’t an angry eleven-year-old anymore, and growing up—as all people did as they aged—he’d learned about life and that his parents weren’t always right. But, no, Draco hadn’t _changed_. Even in prison with all his worst memories drowning him daily, he never thought of one thing he’d done that he’d change. Based on the information he had at the time, everything he’d done was the appropriate action for him to take.

Inch by inch, he felt the cold overtake him.

What plagued him the most about his first meetings with Harry was that he couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong. Had he changed would he not understand what it was about him that Harry had hated right away? 

‘How have I changed?’

Harry’s hand dropped and his face contorted into confusion as he tried to come up with an explanation. ‘Well, it was obvious that you really didn’t want to kill anyone—Muggleborn or otherwise—and you don’t seem to still believe you’re better than everyone else—’

‘I’ve _never_ wanted to kill anyone— _Muggle_ or otherwise, and I’m not the one who always felt morality superior to everyone—’

‘In second year, you said that—’

‘Everything I’ve ever said knowing you were listening to me—and I’m not deaf nor blind so, yes, I’ve always known when you were listening to me—was to get under your skin, because you were a jerk to me from the first moment we met. I never believed most of it to begin with, and if you think the war changed my mind about any of it I _did_ believe, you are mistaken.’

Harry stood slack jawed and a moment later Draco’s mother was in the room and scowled him for being rude to their guest. Draco brushed her off and said, ‘I suppose I am the wrong sort after all,’ and then walked passed them to leave the room.

‘Draco,’ his mother said, grabbing his arm to stop him, ‘what are you doing?’ Her eyes were wide and frantic, she lowered her voice and added, ‘this is what you’ve wanted for years.’ He studied her. What did she want out of this? Did she need them to get along, and Draco to play as though he _had_ changed? He shook his head at her. No matter what it was, he couldn’t do it. If it was anyone else, he could be whomever she needed him to be. But even she had to understand he couldn’t do that with Potter. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘it could be your last chance.’

‘At what?’

Harry had followed them and watched them, curious and unsure what to do with himself.

‘You know.’ Draco’s mother’s eyes bore into his own. ‘Everything has changed...don’t do this to yourself.’ She couldn’t even say it and that pushed Draco toward his resolve. 

‘I don’t _know_ ,’ he lied. ‘I don’t need nor want that anymore.’

She was shaken, and he’d never felt as much like her as he did then.

But because he did know exactly what she meant he added, ‘Nothing has changed. We can fix this damage ourselves. We’ll get Father out of Azkaban. In a few years, I’ll marry and soon thereafter provide an heir. Nothing has changed.’

His mother dropped his arm and her expression became blank, before he turned from her and walked up the stairs. He glanced back to see Harry touch her arm ,and his mother begin to make excuses. He could almost hear her lies, her saying: ‘He’s still fragile from...everything.’

#

Years passed and Draco did exactly as he said. They cleaned up the manor and donated mounds of money to help clean up the rest of the world. Draco worked on investments to make the money back and worked on politicians until he could get his father released. He married Queenie’s younger sister a few years after she left Hogwarts.

She was young and disillusioned about ever falling in love. 

About love in general.

Part of Draco would always blame his parents for the divorce. She asked for it two days after his father’s funeral. She’d lived watching his parents, still after so many years, be desperately in love with each other. She might never find what she was looking for, but it was a certainty as long as she was married to Draco. They had a good friendship. He missed her at odd moments with one of his friends or another, wishing she’d say what he was thinking but would never dare to say. He never missed her when he was alone.

Draco’s mother sat working on her needle point in the chair opposite Draco, when Scorpius burst into the drawing room. Albus Potter shifted in quiet behind him desperate to go unnoticed. Scorpius spoke quickly as he gestured to the windows about how it was much too nice outside to stay indoors and if they could go flying. 

A smirked played on Albus’ face and Draco wondered if it was due to Scorpius’ over enthusiasm as he talked, or that at sixteen he still asked his permission if he could go out into his own backyard. 

Did Albus know this was Scorpius’ way of inviting Draco to join them? Of course, they could go, just be careful. Scorpius’ face still held a smile as they made their way out the door, but it wasn’t as big as when he entered it. Draco knew Scorpius wished for a father that would take the hint and said, ‘Perhaps I’ll join you when I’ve finished my tea,’ when Draco felt too old to even contemplate getting on a broom again. Albus’ father most likely joined them all the time.

Albus checked Scorpius’ face and saw his disappointment. As the drawing room door closed after the pair, Albus pulled him into a kiss. They still hid their relationship, for the most part, though it was known to everyone around them. Draco’s mother’s eyes met his. She’d seen the kiss as well.

The only way he thought of Harry anymore was as Albus’ dad, for the most part.

‘It’s not too late,’ she said.

Draco gave her a look that said he didn’t want to talk about it. He was surprised she’d brought it up; it’d been years since she had. She had no reason to believe—he thought he gave her no reason to believe—that he thought about Harry any longer. Yet, he kept his distance from his son and Albus for a reason. A muddled one for his son and an all too clear one for his mother.

‘I just want you—’

‘Spare me, mother, please.’ Draco couldn’t handle another word about him being happy. It was far too late for some things. ‘My happiness—or sadness, would be the more appropriate word—isn’t all wrapped up in one person.’

‘You never went after anyone else.’

‘I _married_ someone else.’

‘Not for yourself. She never made you happy and consequently you never made her happy, which is why she left you and—’

‘Mother,’ he said to stop her, ‘whatever there was, if it ever was anything, is long gone. I don’t even know him. I never really did.’

The question she longed to ask hung in her eyes. If Draco had let it go, if he was over Harry, if it didn’t matter anymore, then why did he still refuse to date anyone else? Astoria was for the family, even if the family no longer cared about the original path they went down. What was the point in him being alone forever?

‘If you’re so interested in romance, why don’t you start dating again?’

A pained smile came upon her face and she glance at the photographs that littered the mantle of the fireplace. His mother in a wedding dress, his father flying with him when he was twelve, all of them together on his third birthday for a moment. All the pictures contained moments. The happier parts of days that Draco had trouble forgetting the bad parts of. 

‘I had my romance, Draco. When I was much younger than you, and it lasted until I was much older than you. You’re still alive you know, and I fear I disagree with all your happiness being wrapped up in one person....’ She waited a beat for him to protest just to cut him off with, ‘Scorpius.’

Draco sipped his tea. It wasn’t true, he loved his mother, too. That was a given. He lived for his mother until he had his son; she was the only thing that got him through it.

‘He thinks you don’t approve of Albus, but he can’t figure out why.’

‘Of course, I approve—’

‘So you say, but you don’t act like it. I assured him that you couldn’t be happier for him, but...I think you need to tell him. It’s driving a wedge between the two of you. Don’t let your stubbornness take away your last bit of happiness.’

Then he had to say it, because it was his last line of defence.

‘I have you.’

#

Without warning, his mother was gone.

His father never socialised again after the war, but his mother made many friends both before and after his death. Her funeral was not the quiet affair his father’s had been. She was old, but not so old that her death was expected. She had a weak heart, the Healer had said. She suffered a lot of trauma in her life, after all.

When Draco first found out, he’d been more worried for Scorpius than himself. But the last real conversation he had with his mother haunted him at her funeral. Scorpius had Albus. Though her death should have brought Scorpius back to Draco, it drove him away. Being with each other made them think of only her. There were few fond memories that they’d shared without her present.

She’d been losing energy for a while, the Healer informed him. Her pushing him again about his own happiness made more sense. She pushed him a lot after the war, because she couldn’t understand that she was all he lived for then. His happiness wasn’t on his list of priorities, only hers were. And she could say all she wanted that she wanted him to be with one man or another, and she could press him about Harry any time they passed by each other, but he remembered how her shoulders relaxed after he first declared love for a girl—even knowing the lie that it was. He saw her gloat about her beautiful daughter-in-law, and he’d never seen her as happy as she was when Scorpius was born.

Draco cried. He hadn’t at his father’s funeral—he’d cried after, alone in his room until his mother found him and they cried together—but he couldn’t hold it in at hers. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He wasn’t ready to be on his own yet.

Scorpius sat beside him and yet he felt miles away. 

In a surreal turn of events, that Draco still couldn’t put together, Harry was there—because he and Draco’s mother had remained close, even if Draco avoided him and Harry never came to the Manor—and sat next to Albus, who was holding Scorpius’ hand, because that’s where he belonged. None of the other Weasleys were there except Rose, who sat on the other side of Harry.

It was almost as if his mother were laughing at him—or smirking more likely—and it made him chuckle to himself as he pictured her expression. Draco glanced toward Harry, and he was watching him with a perplexed look. Inappropriate to laugh at his mother’s funeral, Draco knew. It just made him want to laugh more. She’d love this. Harry had divorced Ginny five years ago.

Draco pictured her floating above them and saying, ‘See, Draco, from here you look like a family.’ Yes, a family where the sons were together, that’s a picture of normalcy. Harry held Albus’ hand and just as the thought crossed Draco’s mind that Albus was too old for that, even if it was a funeral, Scorpius’ hand nudged his. The four of them were linked; they looked like a family that they could never be. He no longer wanted to laugh.

When he took it, Draco felt more alone than he had before. His mother no longer smirked down at him, but shook her head in sorrow and whispered, ‘Tell him.’

It wasn’t the right time he reasoned. A funeral was the worst time to talk about the problems of the living, but Draco conceded to his mother. Holding his son’s hand should never make him feel as though he was drifting off. If they can’t grieve for her together, he was already losing him.

He was losing Scorpius.

‘I need to talk to you today,’ he whispered to Scorpius, ‘let me know when you’re ready.’

Scorpius continued his stare forward but nodded. From the look on Albus’ face, he’d heard and jumped to all the wrong conclusions. They really did think Draco had a problem with their relationship. Draco was sure of it when after the funeral, not only Albus stayed but Harry and Rose did as well. All of them started talking at once, when Draco entered the drawing room as though anything Draco said would have kept the boys apart one way or another.

‘Draco,’ Harry said, ‘please...’ and though Draco really wanted to know what Harry had to say about all of this he held up his hands to stop them.

Once everyone was quiet said, ‘I have no intention of trying to keep them apart.’ He looked only at Scorpius. ‘I know no one believes me, but I am happy for you. It is a part of what I want to talk to you about, _but_ it is a conversation for only me and you. So—’ Draco addressed the others. ‘If you’ll excuse us for a moment, there’s plenty of food...everywhere...and we’ll only be a moment.’

As soon as the drawing room’s door closed, Scorpius peppered him with questions:

‘What it is? Is something wrong? You’re not sick are you?’

‘Nothing is wrong, calm down, you are acting like we never talk.’ Draco made his way to the stairs with Scorpius close behind him. He slowly sat and then patted the stair next to him and Scorpius joined him. ‘A few months before your grandmother died...she told me that I was pushing you away.’ Draco paused to let Scorpius reflect on it. He’d hoped that Scorpius would deny it, but he simply waited, watching him. ‘And during the funeral...I realised she was right.’

‘You’re not—’

‘You don’t believe that I’m okay with you and Albus and the truth is...I’m not.’

Scorpius looked away and scowled at the floor.

‘I obviously can’t hide that from anyone—’ Draco gestured to the drawing room door where the others were. ‘But it isn’t because I don’t like Albus—I do like him—and it isn’t because I don’t want you to be together—I do want you to—and I am desperately trying not to get in your way.’ He should have taken the time to prepare a speech. He was too used to the people reading him without him having to tell the whole story. What if he couldn’t bring himself to say it? ‘I had no intention of ever talking about this; I don’t think I ever have talked about this, but I never thought this to hurt our relationship and it is.’

‘Okay?’ Confusion knitted Scorpius’ eyebrows as he waited for Draco to compose himself. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. Okay, what I’m not okay with...the problem is...Harry—why is this so hard to explain?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Scorpius forced a laugh.

Draco nodded at nothing as he tried to find the words. ‘You know how you feel about Albus? Of course you do—everyone does just looking at you. Alright, I have only felt like that about one other person and...um.’

‘I’m guessing that person wasn’t my mum.’

‘No,’ Draco said with a laugh, ‘it wasn’t. And seeing you with Albus reminds me of _him_ , because—’

‘Al is a boy?’ Scorpius tried to say it light heartedly. He didn’t seem surprised that Draco was in love with a him, but enough people had speculated about it by then it probably wouldn’t surprise anyone. Draco had cried in front of him before, but never over romantics. Not over his own personal troubles. They were happy tears or I’m in pain tears. The first emotional tears he’d seen where from Draco mother’s death. Tears had been random and frequent the last few days, but they were for Scorpius as well.

‘No.’ Draco shook his head and wiped his mouth. ‘It’s because it is his father.’

It took a beat for Scorpius to understand as his face went through confusion and then surprise, shock and settled back into confusion and asked, ‘Is?’

‘Is, had been, was, am.’ Draco nodded. ‘I’m in love with Harry,’ Draco said and a chill ran through him as he realised, ‘you’re the first person I’ve admitted that to.’

‘Oh,’ Scorpius said, ‘I wasn’t aware you had ever dated.’

Draco chuckled more to himself than for his son. ‘Let’s not get into all the reasons I’ve never talked about this before.’

‘You haven’t, have you?’

‘I’m quite aware how pathetic I am.’

‘You’re not...’ But Scorpius couldn’t even finish the sentence. ‘I’m just confused. I thought you hated him.’

‘I worked very hard to make sure everyone believed that.’ He took Scorpius’ hand. ‘Look, I didn’t tell you, because I wanted to talk about it. I don’t. I told you, because I wanted you to understand. That I am trying and that is all. So you can go now, I’m sure Albus wants to talk to you.’

Scorpius stood and walked two paces before turning around. ‘What do I tell them?’

‘You can tell Rose and Harry it isn’t any of their business, because it isn’t.’

Scorpius looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but said nothing.

‘Tell Albus whatever you want—’ Just then the drawing room doors opened, and it was apparent they didn’t need to tell them anything, because they’d listened to the whole thing. 

He should have known. They should have gone farther away or cast a spell, or—it didn’t matter. His eyes met Harry’s, and though he wanted to run he was too tired to move. It was far too late and it didn’t matter, because Harry was only interested in being his friend if he had changed. And Draco was only interested in being much more than that, if Harry learned to accept him.

As Harry stepped toward him, Draco cut his pursuit off with:

‘It’ll never work.’

‘Have you always been this much of a defeatist?’

He didn’t have the energy to glare. ‘I’ve had a lot of help.’

Harry pulled at his hair. ‘I don’t know what to do here. I’d offer to start again, but the last time I did that it went to shit. What do you want from me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That is quite obviously not true.’

A cry pierced the air and soon Draco felt a ghosts’ presence behind him. Everyone except he and Scorpius jumped; they were too used to hearing a baby's cry to be startled by it.

‘She’s dead, Lyra,’ he said not looking at her or Vela as she cried for her mother.

‘I know,’ Lyra said, ‘I’m not the one crying for her. The shouting isn’t helping.’

Draco glared at Harry and said, ‘You should leave.’

But Harry wasn’t listening. He was staring at Lyra and trying to put the pieces together. The portrait behind them held all the answers, and Draco watched as he compared Lyra’s features to the picture of the woman she would have become. 

He turned to look at it himself. It was a family portrait and it held all of them: their father and mother, a dark-haired girl years older than Lyra who none of them had ever met, Cassiopeia was the name on her gravestone, two boys lost before his mother made it through their first trimester—Perseus and Caelum—Lyra, Ara, Vela, Draco and then Polaris.

Polaris was the only one Draco had ever seen in the flesh, and he wished he never had.

Draco never asked his mother if the reason she had such trouble letting her children go was because they were ghosts. She bought gifts for all of them though, and most of them weren’t ghosts. Unlike all the other pictures that held moments of their lives this one painting aged with the family. Though his father was dead, Draco saw that he aged as well. But in the painting he stood taller than Draco had seen him since he was a child. He should get rid of it. No one would want to look at it after Draco was gone.

When he was a child it disturbed him, but he could see the beauty in it. They were a beautiful family. He caught his mother watching it a lot before she died. Seeing what all her children could have been, in a way.

Vela calmed in Lyra’s arms and fell asleep.

‘Draco?’ Harry asked.

He opened his mouth to tell him to leave, again. He didn’t belong there. But Lyra spoke first as she bounced her little sister, keeping her voice soft.

‘Don’t you think it’s time for you to join the living?’ Her grey eyes stared directly into her brothers’ as she floated in front of him. ‘Have you ever thought about how hard it is for us to watch the only one that had a chance at life not take it? Let the dead rest, Draco. We don’t need you to take care of us.’

‘I never thought I was taking care of you,’ he admitted. ‘You were taking care of me.’

‘You’ll always be my baby brother, no matter much bigger than me you get. In a way, I’ll always be older than you so listen to me. You don’t have to commit to anything. Just have the conversation.’

‘What conversation?’ Harry asked.

It was meant to be rude, to push Harry away, when Draco said, ‘The one where I admit—’ Draco turned to face him. ‘That I actually kind of like you. Even though, it has been a rather self-destructive feeling, since I first met you.’

But Harry smiled as he finally said the right thing: ‘I’m not sure how you could have missed it—especially this last few years—but I kind of like you, too.’

**Author's Note:**

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